GERBY HALL.
Contrary to his usual custom, Colonel Towton did not mention the
conversation or the visit of Miss Hest to his co-worker. And he
observed this reticence for two reasons. Firstly, he noted that Vernon
was too much engrossed in the society of Lucy to give undivided
attention to those anxious matters dealing with The Spider and his
machinations. Secondly, the offer of Frances particularly concerned
himself and Ida, therefore it was useless to ask advice which probably
would not be taken. As Vernon had always supported Miss Hest, he
undoubtedly would urge that she should be paid if she fulfilled the
conditions which she herself had laid down. Nine men out of ten would
have clinched the matter at the price, so that the Gordian knot might
be cut instead of unravelled. But Towton was no Alexander to adopt so
hasty a course, and did not see his way to surrender a large sum for
help which, in his opinion, should be freely rendered.
Moreover, as he scrupulously regarded Ida's fortune as belonging
entirely to herself, Towton infinitely preferred to leave the decision
to her judgment. In spite of the triumphant smile with which Frances
had terminated her visit, the Colonel did not feel sure that she would
gain her ends, and suspected that her boasted influence over Miss
Dimsdale was less powerful than she pretended it to be. If she could
twist Ida round her finger--and she intimated as much--there was no
need for her to apply to Towton in any way, as all she had to do was
to give the will to Ida and receive in return a cheque for the ensuing
year's income. But this she had not done, and her very action in
seeking him made Towton suspect that she felt her influence with Ida
to be waning. The girl, therefore, would no doubt be glad to leave
Gerby Hall and come to The Grange; and it might be--but the Colonel
could not be certain on this point--that Frances was detaining her by
threats, although what such threats might be Towton could not
conjecture. And certainly, judging by the visit of the previous day,
Ida was fondly attached to Frances, and was remaining of her own free
will under the gloomy roof of her friend. Towton was perplexed how to
reconcile Ida's evident desire to remain at the Hall with the
unnecessary visit of Miss Hest.
"I can come to no decision about the matter until I have seen Ida by
herself," thought the Colonel when he returned to the drawing-room.
"In the presence of this woman the poor girl may be intimidated, or
perhaps fascinated as is a bird by a snake. When we are alone she will
open her heart to me, as I know that she loves me, in spite of what
Miss Hest says. To-morrow, if she refuses to return with Lady Corsoon,
I shall remain behind when the others have taken their departure, and
perhaps may get a word or two alone with Ida. I wish I could remove
her from the society of that woman; I am sure it is harmful."
When rejoining his guests, Towton merely intimated that his visitor
had come on business, and gave the company to understand that it was
of small consequence. Then he proceeded to make himself agreeable to
Lady Corsoon, so that Vernon and Lucy could have each other's company
without the uncomfortable presence of a third party. He taught his
elderly guest a new game of patience; but, as this proved to be
somewhat dull, the young couple were called in to form a bridge party.
They came unwillingly, and playing the game with but faint interest,
allowed Towton and Lady Corsoon to win. As the latter individual
retired to bed the winner of a moderate sum, she was in high good
humour, and refrained from scolding Lucy for her philandering with the
undesirable lover. And undesirable he was, so long as Lady Corsoon
hoped to obtain the fortune of her niece. If Maunders failed to fulfil
his promise, then the scheming wife of the financier was perfectly
willing to permit her daughter to marry Sir Arthur Vernon, it being of
course understood that he was to have the title before becoming Lucy's
bridegroom. Certainly she would have preferred her daughter to be Lady
Stratham, but as Lady Vernon, with her husband's rank and her father's
money, she would shine no inconsiderable planet amongst the stars of
London society, and Lady Corsoon could bask in the reflected glory.
Finally, as the ambitious mother fell asleep, she reflected that Lucy
being rather obstinate, it was just as well to humour her in this
instance, as she was quite capable of running away with the man of her
choice if permission were refused. Lady Corsoon would not have been
particularly astonished had she heard that Lucy had already made the
audacious proposal of flight.
Next morning, however, to enhance the value of the prize, she kept her
daughter beside her, and remained in her own room on the plea of
looking after certain matters connected with feminine adornment.
Towton, on his part, had to attend to his correspondence; so Vernon
was left to his own devices. He thought that he could not occupy his
time better than by taking a walk to the Bolly Dam in the hope of
stumbling on Hokar. For this purpose he strolled leisurely along the
moorland path, enjoying the bright sunshine and the keen freshness of
the morning air. It was a perfect day, and had Lucy been prattling by
his side it would have been more perfect still. But his beloved was
absent, so Vernon could only feed his hungry heart by recalling
details of the delicious conversation which had taken place between
them on the previous day.
He duly arrived at the dam, but could see no sign of the Hindoo. It
was still early, however, so Vernon sat down on the massive stonework
of the wall to wait for his possible arrival. While in this position
he became aware to his astonishment that he could hear sounds
extremely plainly from the mile-distant village. The clacking of the
mills, the subdued murmur of the torrent tumbling under the arched
bridge, the lowing of cattle, and even--but more faintly--the shrill
cries of children at play; all these struck on his ear with amazing
clearness, considering the distance. Certainly, a gentle wind was
blowing from the village, but even that did not wholly explain the
phenomenon, since the various noises were so markedly distinct.
Finally, Vernon concluded, and no doubt was correct in his conjecture,
that the narrow gorge acted as a kind of telephone, which, with the
aid of the steady wind blowing up its length, conducted the sounds
accurately. The discovery amused the young man, and he sat where he
was for a considerable time trying to distinguish between the several
noises. Later in the day he decided to get Lucy to sit on the dam and
then from the bottom of the gorge a mile away to call out and see if
she could understand what he was saying. The experiment would be both
scientific and interesting.
For quite an hour Vernon waited, but no Hokar put in an appearance. He
then spent another hour in walking slowly round the reservoir, and
finally, without having seen a single person, he returned to luncheon.
At the meal Colonel Towton mentioned that he had written a note to
Miss Hest stating that the visit would be paid at three o'clock. "And
I have given orders for a room to be got ready for Ida next to yours,
Lady Corsoon," said the Colonel.
"I doubt if Ida will come," sighed his guest. "She is singularly
obstinate in having her own way. What she can see in that woman is a
puzzle to me."
"Miss Hest is very clever," remarked Lucy, "but there is something
about her that I do not like."
"For instance?" queried Vernon bending forward.
"I can hardly say," said the girl thoughtfully. "She is clever and
agreeable and quite well-bred. Yet she seems to be--be--dangerous."
"I think that word applies more to Maunders than to Miss Hest,"
observed Towton, "although I am bound to say that Miss Hest does not
satisfy me in many ways. She is too masterful. Dangerous, no. I should
not describe her as dangerous, Miss Corsoon."
"I should, and I do, Colonel. I may be wrong, but the first time I met
Miss Hest at 'Rangoon' she gave me that impression."
"One should never go against impressions," said Vernon gravely; "They
are the instincts of the soul."
"Nonsense," contradicted Lady Corsoon vigorously. "I'm sure when I
first met my husband I could not bear him, and my mother had simply to
drive me to the altar. Yet I married him, and I'm sure we are a most
attached pair."
The gentlemen were too well-bred to smile at this statement, yet it
secretly amused both. Everyone knew that the undeniable good feeling
which existed between Sir Julius and his wife was mainly due to their
diverse interests in life, which kept them more or less apart. Lady
Corsoon was always fluttering about as a society butterfly, while Sir
Julius remained constantly in the City, earning money for her to
spend. It was little credit to either that they were civil to one
another on the rare occasions when they met. Cain and Abel themselves
would not have quarrelled when only meeting--as the saying goes--once
in a blue moon But Lady Corsoon felt quite certain that she was a
model wife and a typical British matron (new style), and prattled on
about her domestic happiness until it was time to start for Gerby
Hall.
"Vernon will escort you two ladies," said Towton, who was in riding
kit, and exhibited a more youthful air than usual. "I can follow."
"You won't ride to Gatehead until you have called at the Hall," urged
Lady Corsoon; "for I may need you to insist upon Ida coming to The
Grange."
"I shall assuredly be at Gerby Hall in half an hour, more or less,"
replied the Colonel quietly. "But I should not think of insisting upon
Ida becoming my guest unless she honours me of her own free will with
a visit."
"Oh, nonsense," said Lady Corsoon pettishly. "When you know how
infatuated she is with this woman Hest." And all the way down the
winding road she lamented that Ida was so impossible, and the owner of
Gerby Hall so second-rate. "For she is second-rate," finished Lady
Corsoon triumphantly. "I always said so, and would say so with my
dying breath."
In due time the trio arrived at the gloomy Hall, and were shown by the
fat maid into the dingy drawing-room. It was less chill and dismal on
this occasion, as the windows were wide open and the warm breath of
the day stole in to ameliorate the damp atmosphere, as did the
sunshine to lighten the darkness. In the glare of day the furniture
looked quite faded, and the hangings extremely shabby; but there was
something dignified about the ancient room which impressed even Lady
Corsoon.
"A very quaint old place," she said surveying it through her
lorgnette; "but damp. They ought to have a fire in the grate."
"They couldn't very well have it anywhere else, mamma," giggled Lucy.
"My dear, pray do not afflict me with your cheap wit. You perfectly
well understand my meaning. I shall take this chair, as the light
tries my eyes."
So saying she selected a seat with its back to the windows, but less
to preserve her eyesight than to prevent Miss Hest from seeing too
plain evidence of her age. She throned herself in the spacious chair
with the air of a queen, and assumed a dignified mein as the door
opened to admit Ida and her hostess. Lady Corsoon's first remark was
scarcely polite.
"You _do_ look ill, Ida," she said submitting her cheek to a kiss,
"and more than twice your age. Miss Hest, what have you been doing
with her?"
"Trying to comfort her," replied Frances drily. "But you can scarcely
expect an affectionate girl like Ida to lose her father and not show
some signs of grief."
"Signs of fiddlestick, if you will excuse the expression. It's want of
food and cheerful company, to say nothing of living in this vault."
"Thank you, Lady Corsoon. I find the house of my ancestors very
comfortable."
"I think not," replied the visitor rudely. "Quaint, as I have already
observed, old-world and interesting to an antiquarian, but I don't
think anyone could call this comfortable. However, this state of
things, so far as Ida is concerned, can be easily remedied. Ida,
child, I have come to take you to the Grange, which stands in a much
more healthy position."
Ida, who had saluted her cousin and Vernon, turned even paler than she
already was and looked sideways at Frances. "I think that I prefer to
remain in this house," she said timidly.
"Oh, you must not burden Miss Hest any longer," said her aunt coolly.
"Ida's company is no burden to me," snapped Miss Hest, who seemed to
be trying to keep her temper, "but if she chooses to leave me, she
can."
"I should think so; as she is free to come and go as she wishes. Ida?"
"I would rather stop with Frances," said Ida faintly, and again sought
the eye of her friend, as if seeking direction. "We are very happy
here."
"Miss Hest, I appeal to you," cried Lady Corsoon, looking important.
"You can see for yourself that the dear child is like a plant, she
wants air and sunlight and every attention."
"Ida is free to go and come as she chooses," repeated Frances with a
stealthy glance at the girl. "And perhaps it is just as well she
should go. I am returning to London in a week or so."
"Frances!" Ida started to her feet, and a faint hue tinged her cheek.
"You never told me of this."
"I never arrived at any decision until last night," replied Frances
coldly, removing the arm which the girl had thrown fondly round her
neck. "But a search amongst my brother's papers has shown me that my
position financially speaking is not so secure as I thought it was. As
it is necessary for me to earn my living I must go back to Professor
Gail's at Isleworth, and probably I shall agree to his proposal that I
should appear on the stage."
"But, Frances, I have plenty of money. Share with me."
"Ida," said Lady Corsoon sharply, "you must let older and wiser heads
guide you as regards the disposition of your fortune. Besides, it may
not be so secure as you think."
"What?" Ida turned to face her aunt. "Then you already know that I am
not Mr. Dimsdale's daughter."
"I know something about it," said Lady Corsoon, concealing her exact
knowledge and determined to appear surprised at nothing. "I received a
letter stating that on certain conditions I could get the money of my
brother. Whether you are my niece or not I can't say, but assuredly if
the money is mine I must enter into possession of it. Of course, you
may rely on my doing my best to help you."
"I want nothing," said Ida, proudly lifting her head. "If the money is
yours you shall certainly have it. Am I not right, Frances?"
"Perfectly right. But Lady Corsoon's fortune--to use her own words
with regard to you--may not be so secure as she thinks."
"If Ida is not Martin's daughter, and there is no will, I should
certainly inherit," cried Lady Corsoon quite fiercely. "And I confess
that I am surprised to hear that my brother is not the father of the
girl I have always supposed to be my niece. I should like an
explanation."
"You will have one to-morrow," said Miss Hest coolly.
"I want one to-day," said the elder woman rapping her knuckles with
her lorgnette. "What have you to do with this matter, may I ask?"
"More than you suppose. But, after I have seen Colonel Towton, you
shall be enlightened as to my exact position."
"Frances, do you mean to say that the money is really mine?" demanded
Ida with a look of breathless interest.
"If it was, what would you do?" asked Miss Hest doubtfully.
"I should give you all the money you required."
Frances hesitated, then came forward and kissed the girl quietly. "You
are a good child, Ida. I thought that I had lost your confidence."
Miss Dimsdale did not contradict this statement. "I shall always
remember how kind you have been to me," she said, shrinking a trifle
from her friend's caress. "Nothing can make me forget the past."
"Come, come," said Lady Corsoon, rising in a fussy manner. "This sort
of thing will not do at all. I must understand plainly what this
means. In the meantime, I request my niece to follow me to The
Grange."
"I am not your niece, if all I have learned is true, and I decline to
be dictated to," said Ida quickly. "To-morrow I shall come to The
Grange."
"Will you leave me, Ida?" asked Frances quickly and with a look of
pain.
"For a time only," muttered the girl averting her head. "But I wish to
go to Colonel Towton's to-morrow."
"Many things seem about to happen to-morrow," observed Lady Corsoon
walking towards the door in her most stately manner. "And as Ida
refuses to obey me, I wash my hands of her. Come, Lucy. Come, Mr.
Vernon. We must depart."
"But the Colonel will be here shortly," protested Vernon, and Lucy
took Ida's hand kindly between her own.
"The Colonel may do what he pleases," said Lady Corsoon loftily. "I am
not bound by his actions. Ida, I learn, is not my niece, and therefore
I shall instruct my lawyer--since there is no will--to demand a
surrender of Martin's property. Now that Miss Dimsdale--no, not
that--what is your name, may I ask?" And she hoisted the lorgnette
again.
Ida shrank back before that severe look, and broken down in health as
she was with all she had gone through, burst into tears. Frances
stepped between her and Lady Corsoon. "You are a cruel woman," she
said indignantly, "and you shall leave my house at once."
"Only too willingly, only too willingly," cried Lady Corsoon swelling
with pompous indignation. "But I call everyone to witness that I shall
have these matters examined into, and intend to claim my rights. Ida,
you are no niece of mine by your own showing, so I have finished with
you. Lucy! Mr. Vernon!" and she sailed out of the room and out of the
house in a high state of indignation. The fact is, the good lady was
greatly perplexed over the unexpected information that she had
received. She had believed that her brother had made a will in her
favour which Ida had destroyed; but she had never expected to hear
that the girl was not Dimsdale's daughter. In her hurry she left
Vernon and Lucy behind, while she simply rushed down the short avenue
and came face to face with Colonel Towton, who was riding in at the
gate.
"What is the matter?" asked the Colonel surprised at seeing his guest
alone.
"Matter!" Lady Corsoon halted, breathing hard with anger. "I really
don't know, save that the Hest woman has insulted me. Also I have
heard that Ida is not my niece, and therefore I am sure the property
belongs to me. I decline to stay longer in that house, and so I am
returning home. Perhaps, Colonel, you will demand an explanation. If I
don't receive a satisfactory one to-night, I write to my lawyer. So
there!"
Towton tried to stem the torrent of this speech, but without any
result. Still talking of the way in which she had been treated, Lady
Corsoon babbled her way out of the gate and disappeared. The Colonel
rode up to the door, and, alighting from his horse, bound the bridle
to a ring in the wall. As he stepped inside, Vernon appeared in
attendance on Lucy. They had stayed behind to comfort Ida, who was
weeping over the harsh treatment she had received from her presumed
aunt.
"What on earth is the matter?" asked Towton, putting the same question
to the couple as he had put to Lady Corsoon. "Miss Lucy, I have met
your mother rushing home in a high state of anger."
"Miss Hest and mother have fallen out," said Lucy, hesitating how much
to say, for she knew how Towton loved Ida.
"And Lady Corsoon has learned that Ida is not her niece," put in
Vernon. "Go in and comfort her, Colonel. I shall go after Lady Corsoon
with Lucy."
"That is the best thing to be done," cried Frances, overbearing, and
putting her head out of the window. "Colonel Towton, I desire a
private conversation."
"Do you wish me to remain?" Vernon asked his friend in a low voice.
"No, no. I must see Miss Hest alone. I understand what she wants. Go
with Miss Lucy. She has already reached the gate."
"But if you want me----"
"I don't. When I return you shall know everything."
"What do you mean?" demanded Vernon anxiously.
"Colonel, Colonel," called out Miss Hest again.
"I must go. Follow Miss Corsoon and pacify the old lady," said Towton
hurriedly, and hastened into the house, leaving Vernon much astonished
by his behaviour. Had the young man known of Miss Hest's visit on the
previous evening, he might not have been so perplexed. As it was, he
hastened after Lucy, who by this time was rapidly gaining on her
indignant mother, with a feeling that Towton knew more than he did
concerning the present state of affairs. Which as he afterwards
learned, was precisely the case.
The Colonel entered the gloomy drawing-room to find Ida weeping on the
sofa and Frances comforting her. Before he could say a word, the
latter turned on him indignantly. "Why did you send that insulting
woman here?"
"She came of her own accord," explained Towton frowning at the speech,
"and surely Lady Corsoon has not insulted Ida."
"And me. She has insulted us both," cried Miss Hest angrily. "I should
have had her turned out of the house had she not gone."
"It was my fault by telling her that I was not her niece," said Ida in
an agitated tone. "As if I could help that. But I won't trouble her in
any way; she has never been kind to me. I shall not set eyes on her
again."
"But, Ida," said Towton, taking her hand and striving to speak
cheerfully, "I want you to come to the Grange."
"Not while Lady Corsoon is there, Richard."
Frances drew a long breath of relief, which annoyed the Colonel. "Are
you detaining Miss Dimsdale here?" he asked snappishly, for late
events had tried his temper greatly.
"Oh, no," cried Ida before her friend could speak. "As if Frances
would do such a thing! But Lady Corsoon has been so rude."
"You speak of her as Lady Corsoon?"
"Naturally, since I am not her niece," said Ida simply. "When she
leaves The Grange I shall be delighted to come."
Colonel Towton flushed through his tan. "I am a bachelor, Ida," he
said in stiff tones. "You can't come to my house without a lady is
staying there. That is unless you will marry me at once."
Ida placed her two hands on his shoulders and looked at him kindly
through her tears. "If you will take a girl without a sixpence, I
shall marry you as soon as you please, Richard."
"Don't put his chivalry to the test, Ida," remarked Frances in
somewhat acrid tones. "Colonel Towton knows that you have ten thousand
a year."
"But if this story is true----"
"It's quite true, only there is a will."
"A will?" Ida stared and flushed with pleasure. "Then poor Mr.
Dimsdale did not entirely forget me."
"He did not forget you at all. I found this will--well it doesn't
matter where, since I explained everything to our friend here last
night. But you inherit the Dimsdale property as Ida Menteith, so Lady
Corsoon will not be able to strip you of your worldly goods."
"Oh!"--Ida grew even more scarlet--"then, Richard----"
He caught her hands and pressed them to his breast.
"My dear, I would take you without a single penny."
"And that is the way in which you will have to take her," said Frances
drily, "unless you consent to my demands."
"I leave that to Ida," said Towton, once more stiff and military.
"Leave what to me?" asked Ida, looking from one to the other. Frances
turned to her in a business-like way. "The property my brother has
made over to me is mortgaged and I am penniless. If you marry the
Colonel I lose your society and also the chance of being your
companion at a certain wage. To make amends I ask for ten thousand
pounds."
"You shall have it, of course,' said Ida promptly.
"Will you sign this document giving it to me?" asked Miss Hest pulling
a sheet of paper out of her pocket.
"At once, if you will give me pen and ink."
The two women went towards a table upon which stood what was required.
Apparently Frances had made all necessary preparations to get the
money. "You can give me a cheque also. Here is the book," she said
eagerly.
"Ida, Ida! Are you wise in doing this?" warned the Colonel, following.
"Yes," said the girl rapidly signing her name and without even reading
the document. "I want to marry you and be rid of Frances."
Miss Hest sneered, while Towton started back, utterly astonished by
the change of tone. "I thought--I fancied--I believed," he stuttered,
"that you were deeply attached to Miss Hest."
"I was, but--there are circumstances----"
"Oh, let us have the truth," interposed Frances sharply. "You liked me
well enough and I liked you until you found that I was too clever for
you, so----"
Ida caught at her lover's hand and made an effort to pull herself
together in the face of Miss Hest's contemptuous eyes. "You treated me
shamefully, Frances," she said in tones of reproach. "I loved you
dearly until you began to bully me and to make my life a burden. You
got me down here in order to gain possession of my money, and have
been trying to influence me into giving up not only my property but
Richard also. I saw what you were ever since we came to this house,
but, to deceive you, I played my part, and led you to believe that I
still loved----"
"Oh, rubbish," said Miss Hest, whose eyes were as hard as jade. "You
played your part very badly. I saw through your weak tricks. You were
afraid of me, you know you were."
"Yes, I was," said Ida, clinging to the amazed Colonel. "Because I
believe if you could have got me to sign away my property that you
would have killed me. I am willing to give you ten thousand pounds, as
I once had some affection for you; but now that you have got your
pound of flesh I shall leave this house with Richard."
"To go to Lady Corsoon?"
"Richard will protect me. And, heaven help me!" said Ida, putting her
hand to her head piteously. "I feel so dazed that I scarcely know what
I am saying."
"You are not too dazed to sign a cheque."
Ida without a word stepped to the table and began to write in the
cheque-book. Towton protested. "You shall not do this," he declared.
"While I fancied you loved Miss Hest, I was willing you should make
her a present of this large sum. But since she has treated you
badly----"
"If Ida does not sign the cheque she does not get the will," said
Frances imperiously. "You can save your breath, Colonel."
"You may hand over a false will?"
"If I did that I should not get the ten thousand pounds," retorted
Frances. "Don't be a fool. I am acting straightforwardly enough."
"Here is the money," said Ida tearing out the signed cheque and
passing it to her quondam friend.
"And here is the will," replied Miss Hest, offering a paper, which Ida
took and gave to the Colonel.
Towton glanced rapidly at the document. It certainly seemed to be a
genuine will signed by Martin Dimsdale and also by Venery and Smith.
He felt sure that there was no trickery about the paper, since Miss
Hest--now that Lady Corsoon knew the truth--would not be able to get
the money unless the testament of Martin Dimsdale was above reproach.
"It's all right," he remarked, slipping the precious paper into the
breast pocket of his coat. "But you, Miss Hest, are little else than a
blackmailer. You are the worthy sister of your confounded brother."
The woman laughed after a critical glance at the cheque and signed
document to make sure that both were in order. "I am able to bear all
your hard names since I have secured the money. But that Ida refused
to obey me and kicked over the traces you would never have had the
will."
"I thought that the money did not belong to me," protested Ida,
sheltering herself under the wing of her lover, "and wanted to return
it to Lady Corsoon."
Frances nodded with a sneer. "Oh, I know how tender your conscience
is. You have whimpered enough about it. Only because of your silly
attitude did I make this arrangement, which is the best I can do for
myself. But I must say one thing, Ida, and you can take it as a
compliment. Clever as I am, you with your soft over-scrupulous nature
have been too many for me. Few people can say that. And now that all
is over between us, you can leave my house, as I hate the sight of
your insipid face."
Ida shrank back into the Colonel's arms, and he addressed Miss Hest in
a voice rendered hoarse with indignation. "You are a thoroughly bad
woman. I never did approve of you, and now that I see you, as Ida
does, in your true colours, I tell you----"
"My true colours," scoffed the other contemptuously. "No one knows
what they are. You least of all, you narrow-minded idiot."
"What do you mean?" demanded Towton, taken aback by the malignant look
on her hard white face.
"Don't ask her," implored Ida, striving to pull her lover to the door,
"she will only lie. Let us leave this wicked house, as I am certain
that there is something terrible concealed here."
"Something terrible," echoed Towton looking startled.
"Don't talk rubbish," muttered Frances, with a dangerous expression in
her eyes. "Colonel, you had better take away that fool, or it will be
the worse for her. I warn you."
"I have heard strange noises," went on Ida feverishly. "People have
been coming and going in the dead of night. Then that Hindoo----"
"Hokar!" cried the Colonel. "Miss Hest, how do you explain Hokar?"
"I explain nothing," snapped Frances, marching to the door in an
imperious way and throwing it open. "Out you go, both of you," She
recoiled. "Ah! you dare to!"--with a gasp she tried to close the door
again, but Towton dashed forward and caught her arm.
"I have seen; it is too late," he almost shouted. "Maunders. Come in!"
It was indeed Maunders who stood on the threshold. He looked the ghost
of his former handsome, insolent, prosperous self. Thin and haggard
and worn, with his clothes hanging loosely on his figure, he presented
a woeful spectacle. "What have you been doing to yourself? How did you
come here?" asked Towton, stepping back much startled, with Ida on his
arm.
"Ask that woman how I came here; ask her how she has treated me. But I
escaped from the room she locked me in by climbing out of the window.
Now I shall show her the mercy she has shown me. She is----"
Frances darted forward and clapped her hand on his mouth. "I'll kill
you if you say the word. You cursed fool. Be silent or I give you up."
Maunders, with a strength which his frail looks scarcely suggested,
threw her off and staggered against the door. "I give _you_ up," he
shrieked, wild with anger, "you thief, you blackmailer, you
murderess!"
"What?" cried Towton eagerly, and grasping vaguely at the terrible
truth.
"Yes." Maunders pointed an accusing finger at Frances Hest. "There is
The Spider. A woman; a devil! Arrest her; imprison her; hang her on
the gallows," and he sank down on the floor, his back to the door,
with hatred written on his white and ghastly face.